


Jane and Tarzan, Scene 1

by jro512



Series: Jane and Tarzan (Disney 1999) [1]
Category: Disney Animated Fandoms, Tarzan (1999)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:24:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jro512/pseuds/jro512
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thoughts on the beach</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jane and Tarzan, Scene 1

"Beautiful." His voice is scratchy, from the back of his throat.

"Oh, tosh." Her voice is barely above the whisper of air in the wake of a dismissive hand.

The evening breeze blows a wisp of fine chestnut hair past Jane's lips. Tarzan brushes it aside. The tips of his fingers are rough, callused against bark and brush, and a cascade of shivers travels down Jane's neck, around her shoulder, and prickles against her ribs.

"No," he insists. "Beautiful." He turns her face to his, his half-cocked smile belied by the caged burn behind his storm-green eyes. "Jane is beautiful."

For a moment, Jane floats like an ephemeron in those eyes, the color of seafoam churned against the shallows. Then she looks away, back toward the beach, as the breeze reminds her again to fix her hair. She begins to smooth it back toward the base of her neck. Tarzan takes hold of her fingers with his own, gentle and deft, and shakes his head.

"No bunk."

Jane's eyebrows pop upward for an instant. What makes him think she was going to--? The thought terminates in a flash as she realizes what he means.

"Bun," she corrects softly, suppressing a laugh at her own silly worry. Tarzan couldn't have been kinder these last months. He followed her lead. But the fact that her mind leapt straight to her little nest of blankets in that dim tent...

Tarzan makes a satisfied grunt through closed lips. "No bun." He settles himself beside her, running the fingers of one hand through her hair, occasionally dipping his head and making little snuffles. Jane relaxes and thinks.

Tarzan has been telling Jane she is beautiful since she taught him the word. He says it of nothing else. He was hungry for words when they first began lessons, and he knows plenty: grand and splendid and swaggering and delicious and exciting. Yes, far past blue and green, circle and square, high and low; he has a delightful palette of words for her father, and he is beginning to take pleasure in learning unsavory words to describe Clayton. He collects tender words for Kala, rough-and-tumble words for Terk, distant yet respectful words for Kerchak.

But he clings to one word for Jane, insists on one word. Beautiful.

Jane sighs. Behind her, Tarzan adjusts his shoulder slightly, and she realizes she has sunk into the crook of his elbow, her head resting just above his bicep. She doesn't mind. In fact, there is a comfortable warmth about his skin, a pleasant tang in his scent. Or is it the mist of the salt spray? His fingers continue smoothing through her hair.

"You are thinking?" he asks. His voice is husky, just above her ear. He doesn't want to disturb Jane's peace.

"Yes."

Waves sift through the sand as if searching for tiny treasures. They whisper to each other the locations of each secret find, and the tangle of whispers becomes an ebullient cacophony softened by the glow of the sun, only just lost over the horizon.

"What does Jane think about?" The closeness of his voice has receded just a little, and the angle of his jaw against the crown of her head has shifted; he, too, is gazing at the lustrous sky.

"Words," says Jane simply.

"Ah."


End file.
